


I Know Sweetness

by Eleanor_jane (eleanor_jane)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe - High School, Bottom Castiel, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Parental Bobby Singer, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Ships It, School Uniforms, Top Dean, Young Castiel/Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-07 16:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_jane/pseuds/Eleanor_jane
Summary: Yorkshire, England, 1986.Castiel Novak is being crushed by a controlling aunt's high aspirations. Dean Winchester hides his self hatred behind a grin and waters down John's whiskey.When a brutal attack brings them together, a friendship forms against a backdrop of neglect, abuse and classic rock.Together, they might learn to dream of a brighter future, or maybe even fall in love in a world of cruelty, fear and impossible expectations.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura/gifts).



> The plan is to post every Sunday. Enjoy!

_Dear reader,_

_Over these past years, I have written many novels. They are about other characters, living their lives. They are about monsters and angels and demons, and they are a way that I can hide._

_This is my last story. The last novel I will ever write. I am old, and I am no angel granted with immortality. And so I wanted to show you who I am._

_When I went back to my small town in rural Yorkshire, I remembered him like it was yesterday. It was like every part of me was humming with the memory of him, and twice I turned too sharply and caught him out of the corner of my eye. The aches and pains in my knees were replaced with scuffed trousers and the weight of The Rise And Fall Of The Roman Empire Summarised In Poetry tucked into my backpack. When I stumbled upon my old diaries, in which I documented every word that was spoken, I realised that I must say goodbye to him. This is my goodbye._

_I know I’m not making sense. I can only hope that it will all become clearer as you read. This story isn’t about a shining Impala; cigarette smoke carried on the breeze; textbooks with yellowed pages and crude doodles; or even the lake with the rusty trolley in the middle of the woods. And this story isn’t about me. It’s about Dean Winchester._

_Yours sincerely,  
Castiel Novak_

_=====_

_Publishing note:_

_This novel was found in the drawer of the late Castiel Novak’s office. We assume he wished for it to be published upon his death. Mr Novak passed away quietly in his sleep._

 

-

 

In Year 9, we had an assembly. That’s where it really started. Hundreds of children bored out of their minds as the headmaster droned on and on to the backtrack of hymns played out of tune on the big piano on the corner. The secretary had nearly dozed off on her stool. And then someone else had walked forward. Someone in a charcoal suit, someone that looked good and proper. A pair of thick lensed glasses sat on his nose. He talked about Oxford University: this place of history and prestige, where only the very best could go; the place that had produced everyone who was anyone in Britain; the place that seemed truly limitless.

A world away from my little town.

After Oxford, you could go anywhere. London, Paris, America; you could go places where food parcels weren’t needed; where nobody spat curse words loitering outside of the chippy; where people didn’t spend their days complaining about the way things used to be.

Oxford University. Where the sun always shone and the people were astute, where people worked hard and achieved amazing things. 

Where I could finally show my aunt what I was made of.

That assembly had changed everything. I put my head down from then on, worked tirelessly to get the grades I needed. To win my own particular freedom.

“Castiel, it’s closing time.” The librarian had said, and I had walked out with a leather-bound book bumping into my back with every step. Everything was buzzing around my head - Frankenstein mixing with the Great Gatsby and Christmas Carol into a cacophony of English lit quotes. By tomorrow afternoon it would all be over.

Everything was deathly silent, and the roads devoid of cars. Something prickled on the back of my neck. I sped up a little bit. I’d walked this route a thousand times before. Knew it like the back of my own hand. An owl screeched. Then a twig snapped from the looming darkness of the woods and the knot in my stomach twisted tight. 

A hand landed heavily on my shoulder. 

Everything slowed down, and the clouds drew tight and blocked out the moon.

Something was over my eyes and over my head, something course and rough as sandpaper. It was drawn tight around my neck and hands closed around my arms, twisting them. Wet breath on my neck made every hair stand on edge. I couldn’t scream. They were jeering and yelling as they circled around me, each laugh mingling into something inhuman. It was like they’d ripped my throat out and the more I gasped the more the sack flattened against my mouth and stole my air.

Another twist of my arm and my shoulder screamed as my knees buckled. That’s when a boot smacked into my ribs and pain exploded. Then I was dragged, fireworks of agony fizzing across my shoulders and erupting into my chest. Something rough - rope, could it be? - was wrapped around my wrists. I stopped struggling.

One of them leant close, and a hand grabbed my shirt collar. As the fabric ripped, I felt the ice in the wind hit my chest. Adrenaline was coursing through me, and rushing all rational thought from my head. Pure fear shot around every vein. When the kick came it exploded out like liquid fire.

And just like that, they all walked away. All? Both? Was there two? Leaving me right there, in the middle of the woods. Fear exploded beneath my skin like a nightmarish firework. I started retching, and my sick splattered everywhere inside the sack.

This couldn’t be happening. Oxford was getting further away every second, as my A Levels only loomed closer. I can’t remember what I thought in that hour, tied up and blind. I just know that it was dark.

‘The Lord is always with you, and he is with you in times of hardship. The Lord loves you, and if you love him you can overcome any adversity you face.’ That’s what my aunty would say. 

I closed my eyes and tried not to focus on the spiderweb of terror wrapping around my mind.

I think I’d lost consciousness by the time another boot nudged my ribs. At first I thought it must be the monsters from before, and as I flinched away every aching muscle protested.

“What the hell?” The voice seemed to be a million miles away and right up close at the same time, and my head pounded and pounded. “You okay? Fuck. Fuck!” The voice rose sharply, and I tried to duck my head. Then slowly, slowly, I felt him coming closer. 

Strange hands tugged slightly on the sack over my head, and then pulled it up. Lights erupted from the darkness. “Sorry. Crap! Sorry. Easy now, easy.” Still blinded, I turned my head towards the voice. That’s when a white fire ripped through me, and everything turned black.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up on something soft, with my skull about to crack. Everything felt like that, actually. As I turned my head - slowly, slowly now - I could roughly make out a figure.  
“Who…?”  
“Don’t talk. Someone did a number on you.” There was a pause, and I tried to lift my head. Agony shot through me like an electric current. “Woah. Stay still, will ya?” Another pause. “Should I call an ambulance?”  
“No. No…” A hospital would mean hours in the A&E, and missing the exam. The fear flooded through me then. 

Oxford felt far, far away.

“Alright. You do you.” The boy opposite me slowly became a blob of gold and two green eyes. He had a deep voice with a Yorkshire lilt, and sounded like he cared.  
“Who…?”  
“‘Could ask you the same, considering you turned up unconscious in my uncle’s garden and all.” He chuckled dryly, and when I looked back at him my vision had improved slightly.

Dean Winchester: bright green eyes, heartthrob jawline, blonde hair in messy spikes and shoulders that fill his blazer. He’d been in my class since he turned up out of the blue in year 9. There had been a bruise over his eye and a swagger that marked him out as someone different. There was a brother, maybe. He could remember listening in to Dean telling Jo. He’d sounded proud.  
“Dea…”  
“Dean Winchester. Do we know each other?” At one point I’d been a Year Ten with a crush. Dean had been the new boy who seemed actually at ease with himself. He’d been too good to be true. He asked me for a pencil once and and broke past every defence with a wink. 

It would make perfect sense he wouldn’t know me.

“No… Cas…tiel Novak.” Then a cough ripped from my throat, and my lungs felt like they were in pieces.   
“You’re sure you don’t want me to call the hospital?”  
“No… don’t. What time?”  
“11pm.”  
“Exam.” My throat felt so raw, it ached to say one word. Dean fell silent. “To… tomorrow.”  
“You study English Lit? Shit. Shit! What time?”  
“Ten.”  
“Okay. I’m going to check you out, and patch up what I can. Stay here for the night, and I’ll give you a lift back to school in the morning. Anyone at home that’ll miss you?”  
“No.”  
“Okay. Okay. Can I check out your injuries, see what’s wrong?” I nodded tensely, and then his hands were on my shirt and my heart was beating hard. “Usually I’d take you out to dinner first.” When his hands brushed against my bruised skin, I bit back a gasp of pain. “Don’t be a wimp.” A pause as he inspected the bruises. Then he headed off to grab something, and I could look around. The room was crowded with leather bound books, and contained only the musty sofa I was laying on and a pulled up chair. When he came back, he had a wet towel and a pile of bandages. “I’m no doctor, but I know my way around a chest or two.”

I focussed on Dean instead of the pain: he had a battered leather jacket; heavy black boots, and a silver amulet around his neck shaped like some grotesque face. My torso was throbbing relentlessly, but Dean’s movements were sure and well practiced. If I wasn’t so tired, I would’ve wondered how he’d had practice. As he worked he talked, to distract me from the pain. It was as if the person I’d known in classes was a caricature of the lad sat opposite me. “One kick, but a hard one. How many attacked you?”  
“I don’t know. Two?”  
“They were waiting for you. Sickos. Then they attacked you, tied you up and left you there. Why did they do it? I’m gonna rip their lungs out. I’m gonna find them and rip their fucking lungs out.”

After Dean produced a beer or two, more ice packs than you could imagine and even more creative threats (including and towels to clean off the dried blood), I drifted off. My nerves were sharp and thrumming, and Metallica was playing softly from the stereo. Maybe it was one of the worst nights of my life, but maybe it wasn’t. 

As my eyelids closed, Dean’s head thumped softly onto my shoulder. He smelt like oil and woodsmoke, and I dropped off not long after.

By the time I opened my eyes again, the reassuring weight of Dean’s head had gone. The boy in question was stretching in his crumpled black t shirt, throwing me a hazy grin. In one hand he held a chipped mug, and there was another balanced on the wonky chair.  
“I know you’re hurt and all, but I ain’t feeding ya.” Then the haze faded away and I caught sight of the clock.  
“Exam… two hours.” My throat was still shredded, but better.  
He put up his palms in a ‘it’s all under control gesture’. “Breathe. You’ve barely stopped being comatose. Grab a shower, I’ll hook you up with some clothes and give you a drive into school.”  
“They took my bag.”  
He blew out air through his nose heavily. “I’ll find it.”  
When I tried to stand up, it was painful but not as bad as last night. Now it was a shock of a different kind. 

The shock of standing shirtless in a strange living room with Dean Winchester when the exam that was about to decide your future was happening in two hours’ time.

The rest was a blur of a cold shower (I got a chance to see the bruise blooming painfully across my chest, and the few places where the skin had been grazed and had bled a bit), pulling on Dean’s slightly too big shirt and blazer and scraping the mud off my trousers and shoes. All the while, my eye was on the door for when the ghostly uncle appeared. To say I was on edge must be an understatement.

Dean however, seemed to find the situation infuriatingly amusing. When I was rooting around in a strange draw for a pen that worked, a heard a conversation through the crack of the door.  
“Dean!” The voice was that of a teenage boy maybe, just young enough to have a squeak at the end.  
“Hey Samantha. What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Dean goaded.  
“You said you’d give me a lift to school.”  
“Aww, crap.”  
“You promised dad and Bobby.”  
“I know I did,”  
“And then you took a girl home and you said to Bobby weren’t gonna do that in his house.” I flushed red behind the door and Dean laughed.  
“How do you know I took a girl home?”  
“Cause I heard the shower going and I found a ripped up shirt in the bin. You’re so gross.” Dean just continued to laugh incredulously, and I stepped in and cleared my throat. The boy was short, with a helmet of brown curls and a large plaster along the top of his head. He was lugging a new looking satchel and pulling on his blazer. “What’s going on?” Narrowing his eyes, he turned towards me. “I know you from the library.”  
“Dean didn’t take me home.”  
“I kinda did though. Technically.” Then we were all somehow squeezed into a shining black muscle car that Dean should never be able to afford, and driving out of the graveyard of rusting car parts towards the school.

A strange calm filled me, as we passed all ages in badly fitting blazers wandering into school in clumps. Sam was giving Dean the cold shoulder, which his brother seemed to find incredibly amusing. “Don’t drive right up into school.” Dean nodded and completely ignored him, driving as far as the school gates would let him and revving a few times for the adoring boys pointing at the car. “Jerk.”  
“Bitch.”

Then Dean span the car around, and the calm serenity shattered as the familiar building came into view. Something sour and disgusting came up, and I shot out of the door and retched into a bush. Sick splashed everywhere, and when my stomach was empty I kept on retching into the air. There was a heavy sigh, and then a hand slapped me on the back.  
“At least you stayed away from my Baby. If you had spewed on her leather interior…” He trailed off, gently tugging me away. The muscles of my stomach were pulsing sharply.  
“I can’t go in there, Dean.”  
“Bullshit.”  
“Look at me. I’m bruised, I’m hurt, I haven't had enough sleep and I haven’t had breakfast. I don’t know if this pen is going to work. I don’t know anything.”  
“You done throwing a tantrum?” His eyes were sharp, and slowly my heartbeat slowed. “You have this. Whoever the hell you are, you have this.”


	3. Chapter 3

I blinked and scribbled with the dying biro and then the exam was over, and I was out in the fresh air. Blazers rustled as ties were discarded, trampled underneath the crowds or tied around foreheads. Laughter and eager conversation was as overpowering as the smell of cheap aftershave and heavily applied perfume. The world was opening up, and they were sprinting towards it. Bike wheels whistled and someone was drinking out of a brown bag, groups congregating down this path they’d walked a thousand times before. Something was playing music loudly, and it took me a while to see that it was blasting out a stereo system in one of the classrooms. 

_“Dessert loving in your eyes all the way/If I listen to your lies, would you say,”_

Cassie grinned across the crowd at me and her smile was bright, but everyone else just swept me away. The last A Level exam was over, and a mangled tie lassoed my foot as students became adults with the destruction of long prised textbooks.

_“You come and go, you come and go.”_

The river was cut sharply in two by a shining, black muscle car, and leaning on the bonnet with his arms crossed was Dean Winchester. People were slapping him on the back or wolf whistling or shouting comments I couldn’t catch. The sun was glowing almost as bright as his smile as he turned towards me.

_‘Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon/You come and go, you come and go.’_

He was mouthing along and grinning at the same time, and the sense of joy was infectious.  
“I didn’t think you would like this song.” I told him, and he just shook his head. When I went to walk past he caught my arm and pulled me into the car, and the smell of leather and car oil hit me. “You’re not going to ask me how it went?”  
“’s not gonna change it now. I have three hours to kill before Sam needs picking up. One of those hours, I’ve been invited to share a drink with Miss Cassie Robinson. Another one of those hours, I am spending having a well earned drink with Jo, Smokes and Smithy.” He paused for dramatic effect, and shot me another grin. “And that means we have plenty of time to go get chips.” Students were sliding across the bonnet, and Dean winced every time someone lay a hand on his precious car. Was this what friendship with Dean was like? Being shuffled into a social timetable, scooped away with a grin and a wink as Karma Chameleon slowly faded away into the roar of an engine?

_“Loving would be easy if your colours were like my dreams/Red, gold, and green, red, gold, and green.”_

We ate soggy chips out of a cone of greasy newspaper, leaning on the bonnet and staring at the light through the trees. Dean interrogated me about the attack, but I couldn’t help much. Every bruise ached persistently, and red lines had appeared around my wrists where the rope had rubbed, but I couldn’t give him any names. My blazer hid my injuries well enough if you didn’t look too hard.

“You are aware that you do not have to do this. I am grateful to you, but you can spend time with your friends.” He shrugged.  
“I know. Why don’t you hang out with us then? Are we not clever enough for you?”  
“I don’t have friends. I don’t suspect I will fit in: my people skills are ‘rusty’.”  
He guffawed, glancing at my watch. “I have to go meet Cassie.”  
“Do Cassie and Bela not mind that you are spending time with them both?”  
He shrugged, balling the newspaper up. “I’ll give you a lift home.”  
“I can always walk.”  
“Get in the car, Cas. Where do you live?” As we drove together down my road, the Impala seemed at odds with the tree terraced road and Georgian houses straining towards the sky. “Crap. I didn’t think you were rich.”  
“You don’t know anything about me.”  
He tilted his head. “What about tomorrow afternoon then?”  
“Can you fit me in around your many social events?”“I reckon I can. I’ll pick you up here?” I climbed out of the Impala.  
“You assume that I have nowhere better to go?” But the door had already slammed shut, and the Impala cruised off down the roads. Across the street, a curtain twitched. Everyone would know about Dean Winchester soon enough. But for that second, I didn’t care.

That night, I dreamed about him. Not Dean flirting with Cassie as she looked across as him with an eyebrow raised, or kissing him and being kissed by him. I didn’t dream about how she might start to smell like car oil and woodsmoke and I didn’t dream for a second about how he might pick up Sam with a smudge of her lipstick and smelling slightly like her classy perfume. Cassie was a dear friend before the studying took over, and so I knew her well enough. Her father and I enjoyed the work of Mozart.

So I didn’t dream about them. In my dream I relived a English lesson from before even O’ Levels, when Dean had sat next to me in a bad mood. His girlfriend at the time had called him a slut in the middle of the corridor and everyone had been jeering or looking uncomfortable.  
“It’s bullshit, all of this. Shelley, Wordsworth, Priestly… it’s all bullshit. Made for sad people who think it counts as living if you read prose comparing roses to the moon, and think reading about wars is as important as fighting in them. Analysing words doesn’t make that experience yours. Wilfred Owen can’t make pansies into soldiers. Reading isn’t living. A virgin that watches porn in still a virgin.”  
“You should write this down. It’d be the unique viewpoint that Miss likes. Could get you an A.”  
“Unique viewpoint? You’re as full of crap as the rest of them.”

Day after day his shining Impala would pull up in front of my house, and the curtains up and down the street would twitch disapprovingly. He'd make fun of my trench coat and ask about my bruises and muss up my hair, then we’d purr through the country lanes on our way to the mysterious destination of the day. Metallica or Queen or ACDC would be belting out of the speakers to drown out any conversation, then we’d pull up wherever caught his eye. It was a wizened tree stump the first day; then a huge clearing where the trees had been ripped down; then a forgotten lay by next to a closed down pub: the places were varied and strange and took my breath away. 

My favourite place by far was a silent and serene pond with a shopping trolley in the middle. It had formed some kind of island, forcing the water to flow in every other direction. Proudly squatting at the edge was a rusted over sewage pipe, and a crumpled can bumped gently against its grill. Emerald leaves jutted out into the water and created a canopy; dappled sunlight finding an impossible way through the thick foliage. From where the Impala sat you could see frazzles pond skaters dancing around, and a lonely duck making his own little way through.

Dean knew of all these hidden places I’d never seen before. Sometimes we’d lean on the bonnet as music from the stereo floated around our heads and sometimes we’d just sit together for a while. When he was driving, I sat in the passenger seat and laid my hand on the soft leather. The Impala’s hum was soft until Dean revved, and then the engine would explode into a roar. Tree canopies hid the sun and then revealed it, casting sudden rays and shadows to dapple the car’s interior. Down those country roads, the world was utterly limitless and beautiful beyond any compare. It was nice. When he returned my mucky, leaf strewn backpack I assumed that he wouldn't bother coming again. Then he was back again the next day.

Once in a blue moon though, Dean would be in the mood to talk. 

“Where are you going next?” I’d asked one day, and he’d shot this confused look. “After we get our results?”  
“Guess I’ll stay here. Help Bobby out with restoring cars, look after Sammy.” He’d shrugged, leaning in through the rolled down window and fiddling with the stereo. 

_‘In the year of '39 assembled here the Volunteers/In the days when lands were few.’_

Softer music than usual; I glanced across at Dean. His creased collar was turned up, casting his jaw into shadow, and his hands jammed in his pockets. Where one sleeve rode up, there was the edge of a purple bruise like someone had grabbed onto his arm too tight.  
“You want to stay here for the rest of your life?” 

_‘Here the ship sailed out into the blue and sunny morn/The sweetest sight ever seen.’_

“It isn’t a case of ‘want’, is it? I’m not smart and I’m not rich.” The ‘like you’ was silent.  
“That shouldn’t stop you.”  
He put up a hand, cutting me off. “This isn’t The Breakfast Club. Don’t try to be inspiring, or I’ll have to throw you over this cliff. Universities cost money,”  
“There are scholarships.”

_’And the night followed day/And the story tellers say’_

“And they’re full of pricks. Nah, I’ll stay here. Are you planning on becoming an” He put on a posh voice, “Intellectual?” I shrugged, looking pointedly away.  
“Come on. You’re some kind of super genius, aren’t you?”  
“Supergenius?”  
“That’s what Cassie said. That you’ve been getting ‘A’s since Year 9 and you’re the reason Ms Moseley hasn’t gone any more insane. So where are you aiming for? Manchester? York? Edinburgh?”  
“Oxford.”

_‘That the score brave souls inside/For many a lonely day sailed across the milky seas’_

“Fuck.” He swore softly, shaking his head. “Remember me when you’re collecting that Noble Prize.”  
“I suspect I will always remember you.” I told him truthfully, but he looked at me like he didn’t believe a word.


	4. Chapter 4

Every day he had the same grotesque amulet around his neck (“Sammy gave me it, a few years ago now. Saved up a while for it. ’s some kind of superstitious wha-dya-call-it.”), the same leather jacket and a few different flannel shirts and faded tee shirts. 

He never rang ahead, just knew I’d be around, that I was always around: studying and looking out of the window, waiting for the glint of sun on paintwork. He’d ruffle my hair and grin wide and the lines between us seemed to blur together until I didn’t know what we were but it ached in my gut.

He was my best friend purely because he was all I had, a pinprick of light in a lonely sky. That’s what it might say in one of the poems I buried myself in. Only with him did I notice the loneliness that had wrapped around my world before.

He never said what I was to him or what he was to me, but he saw me waiting and smirked. Sometimes I hated him for the sheer audacity of assuming he was the only thing in my life. Sometimes I just drank in the smell of car oil and the spark in his eyes and reformulated my view of friendship that I’d read about so rarely in all the literature I’d read. To have a friend who grinned so genuinely wanted to see me when he had everywhere else to go, was a particular kind of love that I knew couldn’t last forever and so understood its importance.

We talked sometimes of Cassie. About how we had grown apart as her and Dean grew closer. Everyone gossiped of the way their eyes met across a party (I never got invited to them) and how they sat for hours drinking out of paper bags even though she was classy and he wasn’t. Dean always initiated the kiss and Cassie smiled and let him get so far and then cut him off and left him always wanting more. That's what everyone used to say, when we were doing our A Levels and I never understood how they found the time in the day to mess around. How their futures were fuzzy on the horizon and not clear cut like mine.

“Why Oxford?” Dean asked, a week or so before results, when my nerves were jangling already for those three little letters on a list.  
“I went there when I was a kid, with my mum, and I loved it.” Then the words seemed to spill right out of me, like I’d been waiting to reveal this pent up ambition, waiting for someone to ask. “The towering buildings, they have history etched into them. There are these perfect lawns and tranquil lakes, and ducks quacking and students riding bicycles with baskets on the front. And people study on picnic blankets with flasks and mugs of tea, and they’re free. Not like here.” I want to stop talking but I can’t, even though Dean is staring straight ahead and tapping out a fast rhythm on the steering wheel. “Mother took me there one day, and she met an old friend. So I was let loose to play among the courtyards. One girl drew a dragon and I could have sworn it could fly straight off the page. Everything was so quiet and welcoming…” I trailed off, and Dean put the car back in gear. The engine purred into life, but I was wrapped up in the memory. How I’d cried when mother had taken me back on the train; her lipstick had been smudged onto her teeth, and I had been far too young to join the dots. An old friend, she’d said. I’d been six years old.

Dean’s knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, looking everywhere apart from me. The silence in the Impala was thick and heavy until a tire screech signalled that Dean had turned into my road. “Do you really want to stay here? In this town, forever?”  
“I… I don’t know. I did, and then you made me think. Do you,” He paused awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and staring out of the window. “Do you think I’d get into University? You know, if I wanted to.”  
I hesitated, and he cut me off. “You think I’m stupid.”  
“I didn’t say that.” Dean swore under his breath, and slammed his hand down on the wheel. When he looked at me, his eyes were blazing. I climbed out the door, completely unnerved. It was like I’d torn a piece of myself open and revealed something Dean Winchester hadn’t asked for, and he’d thrown it away. I don’t think I’d ever shared that with anyone before. 

When I got home I had a shower and studied some more and thought about how Dean must feel to genuinely believe he would stay in this little town for the rest of his life, to genuinely think that the world didn’t want him.

Our results fell on a Thursday, and the doors would be opened at 10am. I spent the night jittering and bothering Gabriel and turning restlessly in bed and watching the sun make its careful way into the sky. Gabe said he’d give me a lift in his beat up convertible, and for once in his life he wasn’t late. At 9:40 on the dot, he strolled out of the door and smirked at me. Then he ruffled my hair and said something inappropriate probably, but my nerves were alight and I felt sick and my heartbeat was thundering in my ears. His car smelt like weed and the smell probably clung to my clothes but I didn’t care.

Every single turn of a page; every last minute note; every single thing I cancelled; every friend drifted apart from; every second in the musty, hushed library was leading up to these results. These were my way into Oxford; these results were my future on a plate.

Gabe drove off, and I stood alone on the tarmac. My legs started to shake.

When they opened the doors, I was at the front of the queue. As I scanned the paper, I heard the people around me swearing and exclaiming, grinning or standing in shocked silence. My name was right there, towards the end of the list. Barlow, Green, Jolly, Kay, Maddens, Nelson, Nite, _Novak_.

Novak, Castiel: A, A*, A*

Everything else faded away, and I was shoved to the back of the group. A and two A*s. I stood a chance, I stood a real chance of Oxford. I was grinning and shouting for the hell of it, and then I turned my head and Dean was leaning against the lockers and grinning at me in that way he did. And I swear everything seemed to be brighter than before, and Dean Winchester was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen and I wasn’t afraid of how I felt for a second or two.

He crossed over and slapped me on the back, laughing as I grinned. Then one of his mates grabbed his arm and pulled him away. They were slapping him on the back and he was shoving them away and everyone was laughing and shouting and then there was talk of drinks and he was saying ‘meet you there’ and following me out the door but too cool to shout for me to wait.

“I got a B, an A, and an A*.” He caught my arm, talking me in this disbelieving voice. “B, A and an A*. Me. That means… that means,”  
“You won’t be stuck in this town for the rest of your life.” I supplied, and he hugged me. Squeezing me tight as his jacket crinkled, and the smell of aftershave and car oil and Bela’s perfume washed over me. And I felt so utterly at home, like I fitted there.

It would occur to me later that he hadn’t asked for my results and he’d waited till we were away from everyone else before hugging me, but for now I took the offer of a lift home and listened to him singing along to every song that played and tapping his hands on the wheel and occasionally giving me this incredulous look.

I called my mum and she said, “That’s real good honey! Did you work hard? You should come and visit me and Sarah sometime.”  
I called my dad and he said, “Good for you Cas. Have a drink on me.”  
I called Uriel and he said, “What let you down on the exam you only got an A on?”  
I called Anna and she said, “I’m so, so proud of you!”

At that point, I stopped calling people because I thought that might be the best response I got. Gabriel saluted me and slapped me on the back, and then I slept. In my dream, I saw Oxford spread out in front of me like a mosaic, and I was stood between the golden gates that would let me in and a shining black impala.

The next day, Dean told me about when he was a kid he’d wanted to be a rockstar or a mechanic. I told him that with his results he could get onto a good degree course and he could be a rocket scientist. He could do whatever he wanted.  
“Even get into your precious Oxford?” He’d asked.  
“Yes. And from there, you could go into almost any field you wanted.” This time, I didn’t hesitate. Dean had nodded, digging in for another chip I’d paid for and holding the greasy paper as far away from his car as possible.

The day after that, a letter came through the post inviting me to a meeting with Mr Reilly, the headmaster.

“Castiel Novak. Your results were extraordinary. Congratulations are in order.” He had smiled thinly, folding his hands in front of him. “I’d have champagne, but I cannot condone drinking in a school.” Then he laughed as if he’d made a joke, but his laugh seemed half way between a fit of giggles and an unpleasant cough.“Anyway, we must get down to the business in hand. And that business is Oxford University.” Again, he seemed to think he’d made a joke. “I have a dream that with enough support, a few of our brightest students could fly the flag for our school in Oxford,”  
“Okay.”  
“And you would be able to, with a few lessons from out teaching staff, flourish at whatever you want to study in the future.”  
“Okay.”  
“Now I know you don’t want to decide now,”  
“I said okay.”  
He paused, clearing his throat. “Good. Well, that’s good. Bel - Miss Talbot should have your timetable for the period of time between now and when your essays need to be submitted. You’ll be taking English, I imagine. That’s, that’s all, I suppose. Questions?”  
“Who are you offering this to?” I asked, and received another thin smile. The curl of his lips looked almost pained.  
“Our highest achievers. People who received the highest A level results, that is.”  
“What about if you got a B, an A, and an A*? They’re high results.”  
He adjusted his tie indignantly, but I didn’t want to give up. “Well, yes they are. Is there a point to this?”  
“They’re the results Dean Winchester got. Have you invited him?”  
Now, the smile was a poorly hidden grimace and his hands started to fidget. “I believe the general idea here is that the boy in question wouldn’t be interested in pursuing,”  
“You haven’t asked him.” Interrupting a teacher was a new experience, but it wasn’t as terrifying as it seemed.  
“Fine.” He threw his hands up in the air, peering at me through his undersized spectacles. “We will offer this opportunity to Dean Winchester also. Will that satisfy you?”  
“Thank you sir.”“Never mind that. Just get yourself to Oxford and make us all proud.”

It took Dean Winchester two days to call my house phone - I’d given him the number one day out of the blue. He’d looked confused and then blinked and grinned and slid it in his back pocket. “You around?”  
“Yes.”

Ten minutes later, he pulled up outside and I climbed in. The stereo was playing softly. 

_Sun is shining in the sky/There ain't a cloud in sight._

The Impala purred under her breath as the rain hammered down. I’d started to call his car a her. “I got a letter.” Dean said, smiling to himself. “Saying I was a gifted student.” He sounded genuinely proud of himself.  
“That doesn’t surprise me.” 

_It's stopped rainin', everybody's in a play_

“You should’a seen the look on Mr Reilly’s face. It was like someone had stood a pin up his arse. All trying to tell me not to turn up but trying to offer me at the same time. Extra tuition. You’ll be invited too, then.”  
“Yes. You’re thinking of attending?” We pulled up outside the chippy, and disappeared for a minute or two. Inside the shop, he winked at the girl serving and she ‘accidentally’ put twice as many chips as usual in the cone of newspaper. Dean Winchester was quite possibly going to cause my high cholesterol. 

_And don't you know/It’s a beautiful new day, hey._

“Nah. Oxford… they’re not for me. Wouldn’t belong there.”  
“You’re smart enough to.” I said, simply, and he barked out a laugh.  
“And you’re full of bullshit.”  
“No, I’m not. I believe you’re intelligent enough to go.” 

_Runnin’ down the avenue/See how the sun shines brightly in the city_

“Oxford is full of rich, jumped up pricks.”  
“It wouldn’t be if you were there.” I tried to smile reassuringly, but Dean just chuckled at me.  
“Leave it, Cas.” I left it.

Our destination was the very end of a road I’d never driven down before. Dense woodland stretched away in front of us, the afternoon sun casting unending shadow. An owl hooted somewhere, and the trees whispered their silent tales. Molten orange mixed with the blue of the sky, turning the world into a glorious watercolour. All of a sudden, my ordinary town had been transported into some picturesque world from a novel. Rays of light were bouncing off the curves of the Impala’s bodywork, catching one half of Dean’s face. His hair a muddy blonde, cheekbones as sharp as a fictional character’s, features that caught your eye, the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen. I saw Dean Winchester, and felt something unidentifiable stirring inside my chest.

For the first time in my life, I wanted to pick up a pen and write about the world around me. I saw a beauty that I wanted to capture with a pen and ink.

And I wanted to be honest. Bare my soul and see if he ripped it to shreds.

“I’m gay.” And it was out with no way of getting back, though my stomach was twisting and my nerves were twanging.  
“I thought of much.” He shrugged, and a bead of sweat formed on my forehead. But there wasn’t disgust of horror or even awkwardness on his face.  
“How?” He shrugged again, tapping out a song on the bonnet with his fingertips.  
Then he smirked. “Do you have a crush on me?” I blinked at him, and the back of my neck turned a scratchy red.  
“No.” 

_On the streets where once was pity/Mr. Blue Sky is living here today_

“Aww. You sure?” He smirked. Suddenly I realised I hadn’t been breathing.  
“Certain.”  
“If I was you, I’d fancy me.” Dean ate another chip, and that was that. Subject discussed and discarded. 

_Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why/You had to hide away for so long_

“Can you take me to the church?”  
“Gonna confess your sins? Alright then, whatever you want. I’m gonna drop by Miss Cassie Robinson’s house. See if she’ll give me the time of day. Considering that I’m a ‘gifted’ student, now.” We both knew Cassie didn’t keep turning him down because he didn’t have the grades, or because he wore a leather jacket and drove a muscle car. It was a game they’d played since Year 9, and would probably continue to play it forever.

As we drove, Dean turned up the stereo and sang along, tapping his hands on the wheel. 

_Hey you with the pretty face/Welcome to the human race/A celebration, mister Blue Sky's up there waitin’/And today is the day we've waited for, ooh”_

In church, I tried to pray. I fell onto my knees and clasped my hands and searched for repentance, tried to find words of apology. ‘Coming out’ had made my sin material, another person let in on the terrible secret. Spikes of fear arced up my spine every so often, but I trusted Dean. As much as I tried, I couldn’t repent. So instead I gave thanks for Dean Winchester, and gave thanks for the world I was just starting to see the light in. And all the time I was in that church, that song was floating around my head. 

_Mister Blue Sky, please tell us why/You had to hide away for so long._

Another week and the unflattering blazer was back, with my ironed tie and polished school shoes. One last push, and I’d have a real chance at Oxford.

Walking back into school didn’t strike the fear it once had, when the school day consisted of the dreaded PE class and a bunch of foot notes. I’d wished for the guts to skip class like the groups you could see swaggering and smoking, but I just couldn’t. PE had been sweaty changing rooms with sly looks and the to-be-avoided-in-any-way-possible showers. Then you’d graduate to the gym hall, waiting in a line as some overconfident lads will painstakingly choose every other person but you. Then there’d be the jogging vaguely after the ball and wishing for the eternal game to finish as people shout abuse from the sidelines.

This time, things were going to be different.

It was exactly the same as it had been weeks ago, except that there were new faces. Corridors smelt like new perfumes and second years strutted around like peacocks - did we used to walk like that? The same old path led to the same old classroom we’d been informed to go to, and the ‘bright sparks’ were clustered around in small groups. Abha and Jane were chatting in the corner; Ash and Jones were splitting open a packet of sweets; all whilst Jo, Cassie, Dean, Smithy and Smokes’ loud conversation filled the air.

When I saw him, I started to wander towards him. He met my eye and I smiled at him across the room. Then he just turned straight back to Cassie and shot her a grin, saying something that made her slap him in the arm and a lad guffaw behind him. “Dean?” I said more quietly, suspended in the middle of the room. Slowly my heart sank and my face flamed up. Dean was pretending not to know me. Why was I surprised? I was a fool.

One by one Dean’s mates shot me a weird look. Cassie’s was pitying and that was somehow worse. I wished with an ache in my gut I could sink straight into the floor, but instead I was left stranded in the middle of the room. I walked to the corner: hands clammy, face on fire, forbidden tears making my eyes burn and shame sitting heavy on my shoulders.


End file.
